


Drive

by lilbluednacer



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe- Mafia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Dancer Felicity, Driver Oliver, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Organized Crime, Prostitution, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-01-10 21:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12308502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbluednacer/pseuds/lilbluednacer
Summary: You're back now. All you have to do is drive a few girls around until your birthday.Oliver returns to Starling City from Russia, mourning the sudden loss of his father. The last thing he wants is to get more involved in the family business. But when he develops an interest in the newest dancer at Verdant, a mysterious blonde from Las Vegas, he soon doesn't have any other choice. But danger lurks around every turn, and eventually Oliver will have to figure out how to get them out - before one of them gets hurt.





	1. Chapter 1

The best place to party in Starling City is the nightclub Verdant, everyone knows that. But tonight Oliver Queen is a block away, sitting at the cozy, dimly lit bar in the lobby of the Emerald Hotel.

He's drinking at the Emerald because he's not working tonight and he needs the break. He likes the quietness of the hotel, the relative anonymity. It's family owned of course, officially by a subsidiary of Merlyn Global. But Verdant is where everyone is, typically, so when Oliver needs time to himself he drinks at the Emerald instead. Prefers it actually, because he doesn't have to talk to anyone except Dig, the bartender, a welcome relief when he is constantly being hounded by all the women in his life.

It's past two in the morning, the only other person in the bar is a young woman sitting two stools down from him. She's pretty but not flashy, no makeup, damp blond waves brushed back in a low ponytail, wearing a loose grey sweater over black leggings and a pair of bright purple Nikes, a small gym bag at her feet. Oliver observes her cooly, intrigued but not necessarily in the mood to go through all the work of a one night stand.

His head throbs.

Oliver sighs to himself, turning back to his whiskey. He tilts his head at Dig, who silently refills his glass and goes back to reading a paper copy of the Starling City Daily.

Oliver glances to his side to check her out again only to get caught by big blue eyes behind a set of glasses. Her response to him is somewhat standard: she flushes, smiling, and ducks her head slightly as if she's embarrassed to be caught staring. Oliver gives her a light smile in return before raising his drink to his lips and taking a healthy sip.

His latest headache is credited to his sister and mother, who are entrenched in a vicious war over what Thea is going to do when she graduates in the spring. Thea wants to study design, she wants to apply to FIT and RISD, but their mother is insisting she go to an Ivy. Thea counter-offered with not going to college at all, to which Moira raised her an internship at Queen Consolidated. Thea then threatened to drop out of school entirely and start dancing at Verdant, packed a duffle bag and showed up at Oliver's loft at midnight.

That was four days ago, and Oliver still hasn't convinced Thea to go home, mostly because he doesn't really mind her there and their mother seems more than relieved to get a break, although she's been calling Oliver almost incessantly to check in with him and demand Thea be returned by the weekend.

"Um, excuse me?" 

Oliver turns to his right where the girl is looking at him expectantly. "Sorry," she says. "Do you know if there's anyplace near here that's still open where I could get some food? I just moved here, I don't have the lay of the land yet."

"Cocktail peanuts not your thing?" he jokes, taking another swig of whiskey.

She smiles and shrugs sheepishly. "I was thinking more like a burger."

"Dig?" Oliver asks.

Dig nods. "Open til three."

"What is?" she asks.

"The best burgers in the city," Oliver says. "Come on, I'll walk you there."

Her mouth drops open, like she's surprised. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"

Oliver stands up from his stool. "This is Starling City. You really shouldn't walk around this late at night by yourself."

"Right." She ducks her head like she's embarrassed. "Well, if you don't mind that'd be great."

"Hey." He reaches out and brushes her wrist. "I don't mind."

She smiles suddenly, and flips her hand up for him to shake. "Felicity."

Her hand is soft and small in his. "Oliver."

Dig clears his throat.

Oliver bends down and scoops up her bag for her. "Come on, lets go."

Dig passes a receipt to Felicity, who skims it and scribbles something at the bottom before pushing it back to him. "Thanks. John, right?"

Dig gives her a warm smile. "I'll see you around, Felicity."

Oliver wonders idly at how friendly they are, thinking she must be a guest of the hotel. They take regular guests of course but Isabel runs the girls out of the Emerald, some of them stay here when they're in between living situations. 

"I can take that." Felicity holds her hands out for her bag but Oliver waves her off.

"I got it," he says. "Were you coming from the gym?"

"Work," she says shortly, following him from the bar into the hotel lobby, all creamy marble floor tiles and dark green wallpaper with gold leaf accents. 

Felicity follows him out the glass front doors into the night air. Oliver tilts his head to the left in the direction of Big Belly Burger and they start to walk down the sidewalk. It's crowded outside, full of wealthy young club kids and tourists. Felicity seems at ease though, confidently striding down the street next to him, unshaken by the crush of people.

"So where are you from?" Oliver asks.

"Vegas," she replies. "Born and raised. You?"

Oliver nods, her demeanor makes more sense now. "I'm a native. But I uh, just got back in town, I was on a trip for a few months."

She glances at him. "Where were you?"

"Russia," he answers shortly.

"Wow," she says, looking a little awed. "Before last week I'd never been anywhere outside of Vegas."

"To be honest I prefer Vegas."

Felicity snorts. "No you don't. Vegas is a shithole covered in glitter and neon lights and cocaine."

"Yeah," Oliver agrees. "But Russia is cold."

"True," she points out ruefully. "So why Russia?"

Oliver clears his throat, taking her elbow lightly as they cross through an intersection so he doesn't lose her in the crowd. "Business."

She wrinkles her nose. "Business?"

"It's - complicated," he says. "My job."

She tilts her head. "So what, you're important or something?"

There's a sexy little smirk on her face and Oliver can't help but grin. She so cute, small and helpless compared to him, even though she walks like she's bulletproof.

"Or something," he says lightly.

*

In the morning he drops Thea off at Starling Academy, feeling ancient as he parks in the carpool lane outside her school and watches her flounce across the grass, the hem of her plaid skirt swirling around her legs. There's something about Thea that makes him weak inside - those big eyes, her small frame.

His perfect innocent baby sister, the one person he really unconditionally loves besides his mother. Oliver's determined to keep her this way, willing to do whatever he has to do to ensure that her future will be nothing like his. 

He drives to QC and parks the Bentley on the street, hazards flashing, and lets himself inside the building. He's been dreading this meeting with his mother all week, has known it's been coming since he got back to Starling City. She meets him up in Walter's office, leaning up against the desk in a cream-pink Chanel suit.

"I want Thea home by tonight," she says without preamble.

"I don't know if you know this but Thea pretty much does what she wants."

His mother rolls her eyes but leans in anyway to kiss his cheek. "I don't think the loft is an appropriate place for a teenage girl."

Oliver snorts. "And your house is?"

She stiffens. "Our security at the mansion is exceptional."

Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose. "Not really what I meant, Mom."

"Oh please." His mother waves an impatient hand. "Don't be ridiculous, Thea has no interest in the family business. Your sister's head is full of silly dreams about gowns and glitter."

Oliver, unwilling to get dragged further into the war between the two most important women in his life, crosses his arms stubbornly. "You didn't make me drive all the way over here to talk about Thea."

His mother narrows her eyes. "No, I didn't." She walks around the desk, rifling through some papers Walter left out. "We need to talk about what you're going to do."

He blinks at her. "Do?"

"Now that you're home."

"It's only been a few weeks," he says helplessly.

Her face softens slightly. "I know these past few months have been hard for you Oliver, but you're home now. You're back with your family and your family needs you to contribute."

His stomach turns to ice. "Mom, I can't... I can't do that anymore."

"I've been talking to Isabel," she continues, like she didn't even hear him. "She could use your help."

Oliver stares at her. "You can't be serious."

"Well darling, if you're not going to use your skill set I'm afraid it's your best option."

"You can't do this," he says numbly.

"Oliver." She comes back from the desk and cups his cheeks. "You have responsibilities, sweetheart. You're... well, you're Mr. Queen now."

His eyes burn. "I can't be him, Mom. I'm not him."

She runs her thumb over his cheek. "I'm not asking for you to be Robert, Oliver. I'm simply asking you to listen to your mother."

*

Isabel's office is down the hall, all glass and chrome, cold and sleek just like she is. She's waiting for him, sitting behind the desk wearing a cherry red sleeveless dress, her lips painted to match.

"Well, well," she drawls as he steps into the room. "The prodigal son returns."

Oliver swallows the _fuck you_ that's sitting on the tip of his tongue. "My mom said you wanted to see me."

Isabel tilts her head. "Yes. Andy quit, I need you to take over for him for awhile."

Oliver waits for an explanation that doesn't come. "Andy?"

"He drives the girls."

He chokes down a disbelieving laugh. "You want me to be a chauffeur?"

"You can drive, can't you?" she asks tartly.

He shakes his head. "Jesus Christ Isabel."

She purses her lips. "You start Monday, my assistant will text you your schedule each morning."

"Monday?"

"Men's desires are a twenty-four/seven business Oliver, I'm sure you can understand that."

At some point even Oliver can accept defeat. "Fine, whatever."

Her lips turn up. "Pleasure seeing you as always."

*

It's Saturday night and the music at Verdant is so loud Oliver can feel the floor shaking under him. He's sitting behind the bar hanging out with Sara while she works, sipping on a glass of whisky. The dance floor is teeming with beautiful young men and women, screaming up at Chase in the DJ booth when he plays something particularly popular.

Scattered throughout the dance floor are elevated platforms where the club's dancers are perched. They're not strippers (technically), their uniforms are sparkly little silver bras, teeny black hot pants, and clear platform acrylic heels. The girls come from Isabel; dancing at Verdant is the way she breaks them in, makes them prove themselves, see if they can handle the life before she moves them up the chain. Oliver does his best to stay out of it, or he did, he supposes, before his mother foisted him upon Isabel to use at her own discretion.

There's a new girl dancing on the podium nearest to him. Nice body, curvy yet toned, long blond waves, her eyes covered in smoky eyeshadow, her pale skin shimmering with body glitter. She's dancing idly to the music, swinging her hips back and forth, bending her knees and swaying, lifting her arms above her head and twining her fingers around her hands. She's not a bad dancer but she's not really performing either, her eyes blank and distant, like it's a chore she has to get through.

There's something familiar about her but he can't quite place it.

"Hey." Oliver pokes Sara's denim clad ass with the toe of his boot. "Who's the new girl?"

She swats him with a dish towel and resumes pouring a round of lemon drops. "That's Dasha."

He snorts. "Dasha?"

"Stage name baby, you know they like them exotic."

Oliver sips his drink. "I didn't know we were hiring more girls."

Sara laughs. "You've been gone for almost three months, things change."

"I can see that."

Sara hands the tray of drinks off to a drink runner. "What's with the attitude, Ollie?"

"I don't have an attitude," he grumbles. 

She smirks. "You mad that mommy made you Isabel's bitch?"

"It's fine," he lies. "Whatever. I don't care."

"You could always go back to Malcolm," Sara says hesitantly. "You know that was always the plan"-

"I can't," Oliver snaps. "I don't do that anymore."

She sighs, shuffles over and wraps her arms around him. Oliver tenses before giving up and hugging her back, leaning down and resting his chin on her shoulder. Sara kisses the side of his head and scratches his back.

"It was really bad, wasn't it?" she whispers. "Russia."

He squeezes his eyes shut and nods, shoving his nose into Sara's hair to block out the memory of the smell of blood in his nose, the sharp sting of salt and iron. She makes this little sound in his ear, _shhh_ , and Oliver pulls away before he can really unravel, shooting her a tight smile and picking his drink back up.

Sara sighs and glances out at the crowd. "So you drive for awhile."

"Yeah."

"Could be worse," she muses.

"I guess."

"At least you're not on the streets."

Oliver shivers. No one in the family - and they all use the term loosely - likes to acknowledge that a huge prong of their income comes from moving drugs. It's dirty, the pipeline run by men in the shadows, far removed from the Queens and the Merlyns. The Lances are unofficial members - Quentin is willing to look the other way and throw them a tip here or there, Laurel is their go-to whenever they need legal help, and Sara of course bartends at Verdant, owned by Tommy and Oliver, everyone neatly enmeshed together.

When Oliver finishes his whiskey he switches to water, hangs out for a few more hours to sober up. He'd gotten completely lit the first weekend he came back, ended up in the alley slamming his fists into the brick exterior of the club; it took both Roy and Tommy to drag him away, his blood all over the wall.

The night starts to slow after last call for the bar comes at two am, drunk kids leaving the club and spilling out into the street for late night burgers or tacos. 

"You can go," Sara tell him. "Tommy's upstairs, he'll lock up with me."

Oliver leans in and kisses her cheek. "See you later?"

"Mmhm." She kisses him back and slaps his ass. "Have fun on Monday."

"Oh fuck you," Oliver laughs, crinkling his nose at her.

"Been there, done that, over it!" Sara sings out, flipping him the finger.

Olive rolls his eyes and throws on his leather jacket. "See you later, Lance."

She winks. "Love you Ollie."

"Yeah, yeah, you too."

Sara waves goodbye and turns back to the bar to carry a tray of shot glasses over to the sink. Oliver pulls his keys out of his jacket pocket and walks behind the bar, ambles down the dimly lit back hallway and pushes the back door to the alley open.

The new girl, _Dasha_ is right outside, leaning up against at the wall and sipping a bottle of Evian. Her blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she's wearing an oversized grey sweatshirt over her bra and hot pants, bare legs, feet clad in familiar purple Nikes.

Oliver blinks, trying to push through the heavy layer of makeup. "Felicity?"

She jumps and turns to him, her blue eyes going wide. "O-Oliver?"

"Hey," he says awkwardly. "How's it going?"

He hasn't seen her since the other night, when he bought her a burger and walked her back to the lobby of the Emerald Hotel, stood on the sidewalk and watched her go inside.

She looks nervous. "What are you doing here?"

"I co-own the club with Tommy."

For some reason her face goes pale behind her makeup. "You're - you're Oliver _Queen?_ "

"Yeah."

"Oh shit," she says. "Frack, I'm sorry, I had no idea that's who you were"-

"Felicity," he interrupts, trying not to laugh at her reaction to discovering his identity. "Relax, it's fine."

"No, I just, I had no idea who you were, I mean, all the other girls talk about you all the time and I know you're really high up in the family and like, super important"-

"I'm not," he says. "Really."

"Of course you are, you're Oliver Queen," she snaps. "And I'm the new girl, which means I'm like the lowest person on the entire totem pole and you're like, Yurtle the freaking Turtle, only not like, a total turtle dictator."

Oliver stares at her. "I literally didn't understand anything you just said."

She flushes, looking embarrassed. "It's uh, Dr. Seuss. Sorry, I ramble when I get nervous."

Oliver resist the urge to touch her, squeeze her shoulder or her hand. "You going back to the hotel?"

"Yeah," she says. "They're putting me up there for now, I haven't gotten around to checking out apartments yet."

"C'mon," he says. "I'll walk you back."

She blinks those pretty blue eyes at him. "You wouldn't mind?"

Oliver holds his arm out and to his surprise Felicity links her arm in his, and together they head out of the alley.


	2. Chapter 2

Oliver wakes up Monday morning to the buzz of his cell phone vibrating insistently against the black wood of his nightstand. He groans, stretching out an arm to snag his phone so he can read the stream of texts lighting up the screen. They're all from the same unknown number, a string of names, addresses, and times. Oliver rubs his eyes in bemusement before piecing together that it's from Isabel's assistant sending his schedule for the week, the names and addresses of the girls he's responsible for driving to and from the Emerald.

Oliver quickly plugs the first girl's address into his map app and determines that he doesn't need to leave until two to pick her up. He wanders downstairs and goes into the loft's kitchen, starts a pot of coffee and stares blankly at his fridge. There's someone who brings him groceries every other week on the family's payroll but Oliver insists on cooking for himself, Raisa made sure he could manage that. 

He needs it, these little things that prove he's not totally under his family's thumb, that he can provide for himself In this small way.

Oliver takes out a carton of eggs and a mixing bowl, melts butter over a nonstick pan while he cracks four eggs into the bowl and whips them until they're uniformly yellow and fluffy. He pours a cup of coffee into a mug and sips it black while scraping the eggs around the pan with a spatula until they're nice and soft, scoops them onto a plate and carries in into the dining room. He eats at the long table that can seat twenty in a pinch, staring out the huge glass windows at his city, dirty and crime-filled and all his, his family's, their tentacles reaching from the financial district all the way to the Glades.

After breakfast he goes downstairs to the gym in the basement of the building. He doesn't know any of his neighbors, the loft was presented to him by his mother the first weekend he came back from Russia, like a consolation prize. He took it of course, without question, because the idea of living in the mansion after what happened, living there without his father, was unfathomable.

He jogs on the treadmill to warm up before moving over to the weights. It's leg day, Oliver does supersets of deadlifts, squats, and lunge variations for twenty minutes before getting back on the treadmill to run for the rest of his workout. He stretches on the mats when he's finished, idly thinking about asking Roy to train with him sometime. Oliver made a vow to stop fighting the second he stepped off Russian soil and onto the plane headed for home but it doesn't hurt to practice. Besides, Roy could probably benefit from it, who knows what kind of training program Malcom has him on.

Oliver presses his forehead to the mat as a sudden wave of nausea rolls through him. Officially Malcom is the CEO of Merlyn Global, a businessman like Robert Queen, Tommy and Oliver destined to walk in their path straight to the Ivy League, business school, corporate jobs. Tommy managed it but Oliver, not so much. After it became apparent that he was never going to graduate or get into business school or take over Queen Consolidated down the line his future was shifted to a different track. To Malcom.

Malcom is in charge of running the ghosts. Ghosts are what they call the nameless, faceless men who work for the family off the books. Men who collect protection money, men who make sure Starling City is Triad-free, men who make other men disappear.

At the time it had sounded feasible - Oliver would play the playboy by day, muscle by night. He didn't need the _money_ of course, his trust fund was already locked and loaded to go the moment he turned twenty-five. It was about contributing to the family, pulling his weight, being complicit just like everyone else, because this is how it works here, in Starling City - if you can't see the bad guys you aren't looking hard enough, you've been blinded by the glitz and glamour of the rich and forgotten to look underneath the surface where everything is rotting.

He thought he'd string it along until his birthday, train with Roy and the other guys, maybe do collection runs or at worst get into a few scuffles. It started like that, weeks of physical training, learning how to fight, how to disarm another man with only the flick of his finger, how to break bones and twist flesh. It seemed, well, _exciting_ , back when he didn't really understand violence, its long-reaching consequences, didn't intimately know the smell of blood the way he does now.

And then his dad had taken him on the boat for what was supposed to be a quick trip, ostensibly to meet with their Russian allies, the Bratva, which got shot to shit before they even made it to shore.

Oliver, sensing a total slide into self-pity and inertia, forces himself to get up off the floor and trudges back to the loft, drags himself upstairs and stands in a hot shower for a long time until he calms down all the way. He makes a sandwich for lunch and eats while watching some of the hockey game from last night, goes down to the garage at 2pm and gets behind the wheel of the Bentley. He slides a pair of aviators over his face and cruises out of the garage and onto the street, following the car's GPS across town.

It takes him to an apartment building at the edge of the Glades. He parks outside and texts the girl's number like the assistant told him to and five minutes later a girl wanders out the front door of the building. She looks vaguely familiar to him, she has long shiny brown hair and is dressed casually, wearing a blue button down tucked into skinny jeans, a large leather tote bag slung under one arm. Oliver has to give it to her, the girl looks classy as hell, not at all like a prostitute who works for the mob.

She opens the passenger door to the Bentley and climbs inside the car, only pausing when it's clear his face registers.

"Um... what are you doing?" she asks uncertainly. "I thought you didn't work with the girls."

"I'm just helping Isabel out for a bit," he explains, equally confused really, because he doesn't think he deserves this, to be relegated to a fucking chauffeur. He's fucking Oliver Queen, he's the playboy prince of Starling City. It's not _his_ fault his father's boat sunk and Oliver had to fight the Triad through China and across Russia until he was sheltered by Anatoli and the Bratva but his mother seems determined to punish him for it anyway.

"Caitlin," she says, holding out her hand.

"Oliver," he says stupidly, like she doesn't know who he is.

You're the new Andy?"

Oliver rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses. "Guess so."

"Cool." She kicks off her Tod loafers and sticks her bare feet up on the dash. "Andy was _so_ uptight."

Oliver grits his jaw and drives in the direction of the next address. Caitlin leans over the console to turn on the radio and he winces as Top Forty blasts through the speakers. He picks up three more girls in quick succession, all of them young and beautiful and seriously irritating, gossiping and spraying each other (and the interior of his car) with perfume. When Oliver gets to the Emerald Hotel he parks outside and hands the keys off to the valet, following the girls inside. In the lobby Caitlin pushes him in the direction of the bar, hissing, _you're supposed to stay there unless we call you_. Oliver blinks and shrugs, keeps walking and leaves them waiting for the elevator.

Dig is behind the bar, face splitting into an amused grin when Oliver walks in. "What's happening brother? Whiskey?"

Oliver shakes his head, swinging one long leg over a stool and climbing up. "I'm working."

Dig raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Mom has me driving."

Dig looks around the empty hotel bar. "Driving what?"

Oliver swallows, tracing patterns into the wooden grain surface of the bar. "Girls."

Dig leans over onto his elbows. "You could've told her no."

Oliver laughs hollowly. "No one says no to my mom."

Dig sighs and pours him a ginger ale. "So what, you gonna drag this out til your birthday?"

"She's punishing me," Oliver mutters. 

"Oliver, you know what happened wasn't your fault."

He raises an eyebrow. "Wasn't it?"

Dig whistles. "Someone's feeling sorry for themselves."

Oliver picks up the drink and presses the cold glass against his cheek. "You know how I feel about this stuff."

"And yet here you are."

"Yeah," Oliver says glumly. "Here I am."

Two hours later his cell phone buzzes. Oliver says goodbye to Dig and goes back to the lobby, hands over his valet ticket to the attendant and five minutes later they bring the Bentley around. He's sitting behind the wheel when the girls come out and Oliver suddenly realizes why they need him - basic safety aside they're all drunk, tumbling into the car in a cascade of long limbs and drunken shrieks. The mood is different on the way back - they're all subdued, the three girls in the backseat tangled up together like a beautiful three-headed monster. In the passenger seat Caitlin has her eyes closed, her face smudged with eyeliner, one hand draped across her forehead.

It makes Oliver feel kind of sick inside but what can he do about it? He's not in charge and his mother has made it very clear that unless he gets with the program soon he never will be. Not that he really wants any part of this now.

He doesn't have access to his trust fund until his birthday, his mother and Malcolm have completely taken over in the wake of his father's death. Oliver can't just leave - he's too well known, famous in that weird way some people are without really having a good reason for it, unable to make a break for it without his mother searching the world for him.

He can go anywhere but he can't escape his identity: the son of a kingpin, his parents criminals who hide behind an army of lawyers and billions of dollars just waiting to be doled out in small amounts for hush money.

He can't leave Thea here anyway, not now.

There's a distinct sniff from the backseat, Oliver glances at his review mirror and sees all three girls bent over, their hair obscuring their faces. "Hey," he snaps. "No drugs in the car."

"Let them," Caitlin mumbles, eyes still shut. "What do you care anyway, _Mr. Queen_?"

Her sarcasm is horrible but she's right, what does he care? He doesn't know them, he's just the guy behind the wheel. The drugs probably came right from his family anyway. Hell, its not like Oliver never partook in his youth.

This is where he is now - almost twenty-five and he feels like an old man, world weary and sick of everything, his family, his life, his city, idly fantasizing about walking from everything he was born into, his family, his legacy. All of it.

He drops all the girls off, relishing the silence when the last one gets out of the car and slams the door shut. Oliver glances at the clock on the dashboard, it's almost 6pm. He calls Thea over the bluetooth, the Bentley idling next to the curb, hazard lights flashing.

"Hey," she says, picking up on the second ring. "What's up?"

"You wanna get dinner?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm still at school though, can you come get me?"

"Why're you still at school?" he asks, a little bewildered. When he was in high school he didn't even make it through til 3:30 most days, choosing to cut with Tommy or sneak out for a quickie with Laurel.

"Group project." He can hear her disdain through the phone. 

"Okay, I'll text you when I'm there." He hangs up and pulls the car onto the street, turns around and starts heading back across town towards Starling Academy.

He texts Thea when he's a block away and when he pulls up to the school she's waiting for him on the curb, backpack at her feet, her hands full of poster board. Oliver unlocks the car and leans over the console to open the passenger door for her.

"Thanks." Thea tosses her backpack onto the back seat and slides inside the car, shoving the poster boards under her seat.

"What is that?" He flips on his turn signal and pulls out onto the street.

"My project." Thea takes off her blazer and folds it over the back of her seat, bends down and pulls a sweater out of her backpack. "We have to create a business for Econ. You know, make proposals and finance plans, all that shit." 

"Fun," he says dryly. "What's your business?"

"Fashion label, duh." Thea tucks a stray curl behind her ear. "It's way harder than it sounds. I have to design a mini collection and come up with all the manufacturing costs, you know, all the fabrics and cost of labor, and then we have to market it, come up with a business proposal for potential investors, blah blah blah."

"That's a good idea," he says, surprised. "You should show Mom."

Thea rolls her eyes. "Pass."

"Come on, maybe she'll take you more seriously if"-

"Ollie, no offense but you don't know what you're talking about."

"Fine," he mutters, feeling oddly scorned. "I was just trying to help."

Thea pats his arm. "I know."

They go to Starling Grill; Oliver used to take Thea here after he got his license sometimes, for what they used to call brother-sister dates. Thea loved it, she'd get dressed up and hold his hand, back when they were kids, before they knew what their parents did, where their money really came from. 

For her, he reminds himself as Thea climbs out of the car and waits for him to pay the meter. He's sticking around for her because that's his first and most important job - being her big brother, protecting her, making sure she never finds out what it's like to watch her parent die protecting her. 

They eat in a back booth, Oliver feeling a strange wave of relief that Thea wants to be here, with him, that she's not too cool to hang out with her older brother. Twenty-five, he reminds himself, he only has to make it to his birthday and then he's free, he'll have plenty of money that's his alone, along with his fame and notoriety. He'll be able to go anywhere, walk away from the business, give Thea the money for design school if their mother really doesn't cave.

Be free.

*

He drops Thea back off at the mansion after dinner. He has one more girl to drive; Oliver goes back to the Glades and texts the number he was given, waiting outside another crummy looking apartment building. He doesn't get why they all seem to live in shitholes when he knows for a fact they're making more money than they ever could at a regular job, but he's not really judging. Half of the family's legitimate business deals come out of this, pushing the girls on them, showing them off at parties, taking the men out for a crazy night and handing them the pen to sign on the dotted line in the morning.

A cute redhead comes outside, wearing a pink cropped tee shirt and tiny denim shorts, her hair pulled back into pigtails. Oliver opens the car door for her and she slides inside, shooting him a curious look.

"I heard Oliver Queen got demoted from his position of the family's favorite boy but my oh my, I didn't expect anything like this." She looks delighted, stretching out in her seat to flash him half her midriff.

"Don't get used to it, its temporary."

"Too bad." She grins and holds her hand out to him. "Carrie. Charmed, I'm sure."

Oliver snorts, turns his headlights on, and pulls into traffic. When they get to the hotel he goes through it all again, pulling up in front of the Emerald, jumping out and handing the keys to the valet. Carrie slings a tiny backpack over one shoulder, walking inside with him.

"I'm on an overnight," she says conversationally. "So you're all done until the morning, sugar."

She winks rather salaciously as she walks to the elevators, swinging her hips as she moves. Oliver sighs, it's almost nine and he's got nothing to do so back to the bar it is, where Dig is still there, serving a few businessmen. Oliver grabs a stool at the end of the bar, waits patiently for Dig to finish.

"You still driving?" Dig asks.

Oliver shakes his head. "Done for the day."

Dig smiles and pours him a glass of whiskey. Oliver hangs out for an hour while he drinks, getting tipsy and watching the men next to him get drunker and drunker, idly wondering if they're clients of the girls he drove. Then he shakes his head, feeling sick again, wondering when he starting developing a conscience.

Probably about the time his father's boat sank off the coast of China and Oliver had to fight his way out of the country.

He didn't know what it was like before, how violence can corrode, turn you into the kind of man you loathe. He doesn't want to do it anymore, watch people get hurt, bleed, die. He doesn't want to be the reason some poor girl is getting high to make it through the night, he feels guilty merely by association. 

He says goodbye to Dig when he's finished his whiskey, idly thinking of walking over to Verdant to hang out with Sara again, when he sees a flash of a blond ponytail across the lobby. He quickens his step, walking through the hotel and towards the front doors when he sees her going outside, wearing those purple Nikes, grey leggings and a blue hoody.

"Felicity!" he calls out, rushing out the front doors of the Emerald to meet her on the sidewalk.

"Mr. Queen! I mean, Oliver, hi!" She looks a little self-conscious, fingers picking at the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder.

"Hey," he says, feeling the alcohol really come on, his stomach warm and heavy. "You going to Verdant?"

"Yeah, I'm on ten to two's," Felicity says.

"I was just about to go over there, want to walk together?"

She smiles, suddenly shy. "You don't have to."

"I'm going there anyway," he says, suddenly uncertain. He never knows how to react when girls treat him like a regular person, unsure if she's just shy or actually subtly rejecting him.

"No I know, I just mean, you're _you_ and I'm me, so...."

He crinkles his forehead. "So?"

"Well you're like, practically famous and I'm just like, a dancer who works for you, oh my god, you're my _boss_ -"

"Felicity," he interrupts, decisively taking her hand and turning her around on the sidewalk in the direction of Verdant. "I think you have the wrong idea about who I am."

She falls into step next to him, her hand small and soft in his. "You mean you're not Oliver Queen, heir to a fortune and your family's legacy?"

"Okay, the money part you got right," he admits. "But I'm not really - I'm not really involved in the family business."

She shoots him a sharp look. "That's not what I heard."

His whole body goes cold at her words. "What do you mean?"

"I asked around," she says, clearly not feeling guilty about it, which he respects. "I heard some stories about your little business trip to Russia."

"Don't believe everything you hear," he says stiffly.

"I just meant..." Felicity trails off, looking conflicted. "Sorry, never mind."

"Hey." Oliver tugs on her arm to stop her. She stops walking and blinks up at him, those blue eyes shining in the dark. 

She's pretty, he notices again. Really, really, pretty.

"If you want to ask me something just do it," Oliver says, and forces himself to give her a harmless smile because he doesn't know what she's heard but he doesn't want her to be afraid of him. "It's okay."

Felicity suddenly averts her eyes, staring blankly over his right shoulder. "I heard you... _did_ things. In Russia."

"What kind of things?"

She flinches. "Bad things."

He runs his thumb reflexively over the back of her hand in an attempt to sooth her. "What do you mean by bad things?"

She swallows and squeezes his hand. "I just want to know what I'm getting myself into. What I should be worried about. If I should be worried."

"Felicity, hey." When she doesn't look at him Oliver takes his free hand and tips her chin up, forcing eye contact. "You work for us now. No one in this city is going to touch you."

She blinks slowly, her eyes a little glazed over. "Why not?"

"Because then they'd have to answer to me," he says softly.

"I thought you aren't involved in the business," she counters.

"This would be different," he clarifies. "I own Verdant, you work at my club. You're one of my girls."

She scowls. "You don't _own_ me."

"That's not what I meant," he says, fighting a sudden strange wave of possessiveness. "Felicity, you need to understand that in Starling City, you're either with the Queens, or you're not. Things works differently here."

She rolls her eyes. "Spare me the speech. I get it. I work at your club, I'm associated with you."

"Which is why you don't have anything to worry about."

She twists her mouth and starts to walk again, pulling on his arm for him to follow her. "Okay."

"Okay?"

She shrugs. "Yeah, okay. What else am I supposed to say? I'm the one that chose to work at your freaking club."

"Don't sounds so thrilled."

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that," she says contritely. "I've only been here a week, I haven't adjusted yet."

"Isabel treating you okay?" he asks. "She can be kind of... Isabel."

Felicity shoots him a strange look. "What do you mean? She's the one who recruited me."

Oliver stares at her. "She what?"

Felicity shrugs, stopping on the sidewalk when the light turns red before they can cross the intersection. "Yeah, she was in Vegas for some business thing and came to the club I was dancing at. She asked my manager for a private dance and then she offered me a shitload of money to quit and dance at Verdant."

All of his internal alarm bells start going off. "And you said yes?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" She sounds a little testy about it.

Oliver doesn't have anything to do with the dancers other than enjoy their presence but he knows how things work. He's sure that Isabel has never recruited a dancer in her life, girls are the ones who come to them - girls who need money for school, girls who need money to get out of the Glades, girls who need money to support their drug habit or their shopping addiction or their deadbeat boyfriend.

He's seen Felicity dance, she's good enough to work at the club but she's certainly not exceptional. If Isabel went out of her way to get Felicity to come to Starling City she had to have a reason, a reason that has nothing to do with Verdant.

He glances down at her as the light turns green and they cross the intersection. It's too suspicious, that she showed up here right after he came home, that somehow the both of them are suddenly stuck under Isabel's thumb. Oliver shivers even though it's warm outside, unable to fight the sudden sinking feeling that something's going on, something bad, and somehow Felicity is involved.

Which means so is Oliver. She's one of his girls now, his responsibility, even in an oblique, hard to define way. He resolves to keep an eye on her as they cut into the alley to the back entrance of Verdant, wondering what the hell Isabel was thinking, why she's so interested in Felicity that she would transplant her here. She must have a plan, some kind of long game. Isabel doesn't do things halfway.

He sighs heavily to himself as he holds the back door open for Felicity, his stomach tightening when she shoots him a sweet, grateful smile and ducks under his arm. 

So much for not getting involved.


	3. Chapter 3

By Friday Oliver's gotten the hang of his new schedule. He drives a handful of girls during the day and he spends his nights hanging out at Verdant, keeping an eye on Felicity.

As far as he can tell there's nothing particularly odd or concerning about her, no crazy ex-boyfriends hanging around, no apparent money or substance problems. He checked out her employee paperwork at Verdant and there was nothing suspicious that he could find. The Emerald Hotel is listed as her home address, her employment history consists of dancing for three straight years at a club called Floodlight in Vegas, just like she said.

She's started waiting for him in the lobby of the Emerald every night so they can walk down the street to Verdant together, fresh-faced and ponytailed, wearing sweats and her Nikes.

She keeps her outfit for Verdant in her gym bag along with her heels and makeup, Oliver would never know Felicity and her little alter ego Dasha were the same girl if he passed her on the street. She transforms herself before she goes onstage, her creamy skin shining from sparkly body oil, her face contoured with smoky eye shadow and highlighter. Oliver can't tear his eyes off her when she's dancing, watching the curve of her ass as she swirls her hips around on her little platform stage.

He's still thinking about it, the swing of her body undulating in the dimly lit club, when Thea calls him while he's getting ready for the dinner at the mansion his mother invited him to, some kind of apparent peace offering for sticking him with Isabel for the foreseeable future.

"Tell me you're wearing a suit," Thea says.

"Tom Ford," he confirms, straightening his tie in the mirror.

"Blue or grey?"

"The grey one, why?"

"You didn't hear it from me," Thea says gleefully, "but Mom's throwing you a welcome home party!"

Oliver's hands slip over the knot of the tie. "What - _why_? I've been home for almost a month."

"Apparently Mom thought having a party for you right after Dad's funeral would have been _improper_."

"So how bad are we talking?"

Thea giggles into the phone. "You're going to _hate_ it."

Oliver sighs resolutely. He wasn't really expecting anything less.

He drives across Starling City to the mansion with his jaw clenched in nervous anticipation, suit jacket laid across the passenger seat. It's twilight outside, everything a blur of headlights and steel and chrome. He loves his city, he really does, but ever since he got back from Russia he sees it differently, is hyper-aware that under all that the opulence something ugly festers.

The mansion is all lit up when he arrives, he leaves his car in the driveway with a valet wearing white gloves and a vest under his suit. There's another man right outside the door who opens it for him with a murmured _Mr. Queen_. Oliver steps inside and is assaulted with noise; the house is filled with guests all in their party best - suits and ties, shiny evening gowns. The lighting is soft, a million tiny lights and candles flickering in the sconces on the walls, caterers in fresh white uniforms moving through the crowd with trays of champagne.

Oliver snatches the first glass he sees and chugs the whole thing, catching his mother out of the corner of his eye, pushing her way towards him in a plum beaded evening gown, Walter trailing behind her. "Darling!" she calls out, her hand glittering with diamonds as she waves.

He pastes on a smile, turns his cheek to accept her chaste peck, her thumb rubbing over his cheekbone to wipe away traces of lipstick. "This isn't exactly a small dinner, Mom."

"Oh please, your sister's been begging me to throw you a welcome home party, don't tell me she managed to keep it a secret."

He can't help but laugh a little and nod, helpless under his mother's omnipotence. "You didn't have to."

"I know but after everything that's happened these past few months..." She steadies herself against Walter, polite, professional Walter, who is inexplicably present at his welcome home party as if he's his mother's _date_. "My son is home, he's back with his family where he belongs, excuse your poor old mother for wanting to celebrate."

Oliver smiles stiffly and kisses her cheek, offers his hand to Walter for a firm handshake. "I'm going to get a drink."

He gets intercepted by Tommy halfway to the bar, wearing a sharp bordeaux colored suit and black tie. "Oliver!" Tommy throws his arms around him in a quick hug before smacking his shoulder. "You need a drink."

"No shit," he mutters.

Tommy throws his head back and laughs. "Oh, it's not so terrible."

"Did they invite the entire city?" Oliver whispers as he and Tommy push through the crowd to make their way to the bar.

"Who cares, all the girls are here," Tommy says, flashing him a toothy grin.

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Really, Tommy?"

"Oh come on, you know how things are. If you want to date you keep it in the inner circle."

"Laurel and I aren't getting back together if that's what you're getting at."

Tommy snorts. "I've heard that one before."

"I mean it this time."

"Well then perfect." Tommy waves a hand around the room, filled with beautiful young women who are all connected to the family in some way or another, probably all hand picked by his mother.

"So nothing has changed since I've been gone, basically," Oliver assesses. They're still princes of their city, designer clothes and drugs and alcohol and women at the tips of their fingertips.

A shadow crosses over Tommy's face. "Come on, you know that's not what I meant."

Oliver scrubs a hand over his face. "Sorry. I know. I - haven't really been in a partying mood since I came back."

Tommy squeezes his forearm as they approach the bar. "Just relax, have a drink. Enjoy the fruits of our parents' labor."

Oliver laughs bitterly. "Just shut my eyes, right?"

"Ollie." Tommy's voice is just a little bit sharp. "Don't tell me this whole thing with the Triad has pushed you fully into a moral crisis."

Oliver goes stiff. "You weren't there," he says in a low voice. "None of you have any idea what it was like." 

"I'm not saying that." Tommy waves his hands at the bartender. "Two Grey Goose and tonics, double for him."

"Trying to get me drunk?"

"I'm trying to get you to calm the fuck down at the party your grieving mother threw for you after totally fucking you over with Isabel when we all know what happened in China wasn't your fault," Tommy says, in the same low tone of voice Oliver is using.

Oliver numbly accepts his drink. "Jesus Christ Tommy."

"Look." Tommy's hand is heavy on his forearm. "You're home now. All you have to do is drive a few girls around until your birthday. You can do that, right? Tell me you can do that."

"Yeah," he mutters, and chugs his drink. "I can do that."

"Okay then." Tommy sighs like he's relieved and leans against the bar. "So, what do you think about the new girl?"

Oliver licks his lips, champagne and vodka sitting warm in his stomach. "What?"

Tommy raises an eyebrow and looks pointedly across the room. "The lovely _Dasha_."

Oliver automatically follows Tommy's line of sight where three girls are standing up against a wall. He recognizes Caitlin immediately, looking elegant in a sleek black gown, laughing with a pretty dark skinned girl Oliver doesn't know, and on Caitlin's other side is Felicity.

For the first time out of the club she looks like _them_ , another one of the Verdant girls - her hair is shiny and curled, her blue eyes framed by smoky eyeshadow. She's wearing an _incredible_ dress- skintight, sleeveless, completely sheer and completely covered in minuscule iridescent beads so that every time she moves her whole body sparkles.

"How'd that happen, anyway?" he asks Tommy, trying to sound casual. "We weren't looking for more dancers when I left."

Tommy shrugs. "Isabel sent her over to me. She was like, weirdly insistent about setting up a meeting so I figured what the hell."

His stomach clenches. "Really?"

Tommy rolls his eyes. "You know what Isabel is like. Never misses an opportunity for a power struggle. And I mean, look at her." He nods over where Felicity is whispering something in Caitlin's ear. "What am I, stupid?"

Oliver nods along, dazed, watching Felicity's dress scatter light across the room. Maybe that's all his fascination with Felicity really is, maybe he's just another idiot enamored by her beauty and charm. The orchestra suddenly crescendos and then the crowd parts for his mother and Thea, coming into the center of the room with Raisa, pushing a tray with an enormous sheet cake on it, lit with sparklers. 

"Oh _Christ_ ," Oliver mutters.

Tommy chuckles and pushes him away from the bar. "Better go get your cake man."

Oliver chugs his drink and slams it onto the surface of the bar, stumbles into the center of the room where the crowd is parting for him. Isabel's earlier words sing in his head, _the prodigal son returns_. He kisses his mother's cheek, gives Thea a hug and stands in between them, puts a big shit-eating grin on his face for the photographer. 

It's like nothing has changed - his family's excessiveness, his mother's penchant for celebration. The only thing that's different is his father's permanent absence and the sick feeling deep in his stomach that all of this - that cake, his suit, the paintings on the walls, the top shelf liquor - it all comes from blood money, deals made in the shadows, evil.

Desert is passed around, the quartet arranged near the fireplace play on. Everyone is drunk, even Thea is allowed one glass of champagne and soon she's following the busboys around as they pick up empty crystal glasses and frosting-smeared plates, flirting in poorly accented Spanish.

Oliver has made his way back to the safety of the bar and Tommy when his best friend groans and clutches his arm. "Daddy dearest, heading this way."

Tommy and Malcolm have never quite gotten past the blowout they had when Tommy walked into his father's office one day and announced that instead of being groomed to be the next CEO of Merlyn Global he was going to contribute to the family's wealth by opening a nightclub. 

Verdant has proven incredibly useful to their parents now of course - the girls can be legally employed as dancers and they do a decent amount of legitimate business - but initially their parents thought it was lowbrow, distasteful. Which Oliver and Tommy has personally found hilarious, considering.

"Oliver!" Malcom approaches him with open arms. Oliver accepts his hug, standing stiffly as Malcom embraces him. "Welcome home son."

"I'm not your son," Oliver mumbles.

Something flickers across Malcom's face. "We all miss Robert Oliver, but life must go on."

"Dad." Tommy gets in between them, big friendly smile on his face. "Nice to see you, what do you want?"

"Oh I was just chatting with one of your new girls, Dasha, right?" There's a little smirk on his face Oliver doesn't like. "She is _awfully_ adorable, wouldn't you say Oliver?"

"Da _ad_ ," Tommy groans. "Really?"

"Tommy, Oliver here fought the Triad across China. He survived a crucible, a test most men would fail."

Tommy rolls his eyes. "Your point?"

Malcom claps his hand over Oliver's shoulder. "I'd say he deserves to revel a bit, wouldn't you?" He turns his head to the crowd. "Oh, Dasha? Dasha darling, would you come here for a moment?"

"This really isn't necessary," Oliver mutters.

"Oh doesn't be ridiculous," Malcom says offhandedly, smiling and waving Felicity over. "Dasha sweetheart, you've met Oliver, right?"

Felicity smiles demurely. "Sure."

Malcom smiles and ice runs down Oliver's spine. "Entertain him, would you?"

Oliver winces as Felicity's eyes go wide. "Excuse me?" she asks, a wrinkle deepening in her forehead, like she's confused.

"It's a party!" Malcom says cheerfully. "Dance for him or something."

"Dad, come on," Tommy groans. "She's a guest, she's not here for that."

Oliver catches Felicity's gaze and holds it. He tries to project calm at her, some sense of control, reassurance that he would never make her do something like that. Malcom must be wasted, he's being even more insufferable than usual. Felicity blinks slowly at him, clear blue eyes locked on his, slightly narrowed, like she's thinking something over.

"It's fine," Felicity blurts out, and to Oliver's surprise she snatches his hand and yanks him away.

He follows her wordlessly, a little drunk and pliant, across the room to the library, lets her pull him inside and shut the door. He's kind of stunned, he's never seen Felicity be assertive in front of him before.

"Sit," she says, and pushes him in the direction of the huge leather couch opposite the desk.

"You don't have to do this." Oliver sinks back against the couch cushions anyway, unable to look away from her - her hair, her body in that dress, the arch of her feet in her heeled sandals. 

"I'm not." Felicity sinks down next to him, carefully smoothing out the skirt of her dress so it doesn't ride all the way up. "You looked like you needed a break. I'm taking pity on you."

He turns to face her, surprised. "What?"

"I know it's your party," she says. "And I know we don't know each other that well so maybe I'm totally reading you wrong, but you looked miserable out there. Thought I'd rescue you."

Oliver laughs, caught red-handed and loving it. "How could you tell?"

Felicity smirks up at him. "Because I've seen you smile before and you buddy, have not smiled once tonight."

"I smiled," he protests weakly.

"A _real_ smile," she clarifies.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "You were watching me?"

She blushes, nodding. "I mean, like I said, it's your party. It was kind of hard not to notice you. And your grumpy face."

He chuckles. "Grumpy face?"

"Yeah, you know, kind of brooding, intense..." She draws her eyebrows together and pulls a face before giggling and covering her mouth with one hand.

"I'm smiling now," he says softly. He tips his head back against the couch and sighs. "Thanks for saving me out there."

"So what's wrong?" she asks. 

He blinks. "Nothing's wrong."

She snorts. "You'd rather hide out in here than be out there at your own party getting fawned over, something's wrong."

"Maybe I'm not in the mood for a party," he says quietly, carefully not looking too high behind her so he doesn't see the picture of himself with his dad at a Rockets game when Oliver was ten, placed on one of the bookshelves in a silver frame next to a small vase filled with tea roses.

Felicity kicks off her cage sandals and pulls her legs up on the couch. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Not that I don't love a chance to wear a great dress but this stuff kind of stresses me out. Last time I went to a crazy party I ate a pot brownie and wound up in the hospital. It was the nuts in the brownie that got me, not the pot, I'm allergic, but that definitely me turned me off from partying, or at least partaking, you know - God, I'm sorry, you should really just tell me to stop when I start rambling like this."

He shrugs, a little drunk and relaxed now that he's sequestered away in the study with her. "So you're not having a good time?"

"Oh, no, don't get me wrong, I mean, your mom sure knows how to throw one hell of a party, I just, um... I think I'm a little out of my element."

He leans forward, his knee brushing hers. "Oh I don't know, you in that dress? I think you fit right in."

She laughs, looking a little pained. "Tell that to my bank account."

Oliver swallows, he knows better than to talk about money on a date, even though this isn't a date obviously, but he's still alone with a girl who's clearly a little self-conscious around all this wealth so he quickly changes the subject. "I saw you talking to Caitlin, seems like you guys were getting along."

"Yeah, Caitlin's cool. I can't believe she's almost done with grad school." Felicity's smile looks a little wistful. "I can't imagine doing this and taking the kind of classes she's taking at the same time, I honestly have no idea if she sleeps at all."

Oliver gets up and wanders over to the desk, craving another drink, or maybe just the feeling of being drunk, when he's far enough gone to not care about anything more than the pretty girl in front of him. "I didn't know she was in school."

"Yeah, she's already in debt from undergrad though, you know how it is."

There's envy in her tone and he realizes he doesn't know anything about Felicity other than that she's been dropped into his life out of nowhere, by Isabel. He doesn't know anything about her family, why she started dancing, what she really wants out of this, aside from money. Oliver digs around in the desk drawers and comes up with a fifth of Grey Goose L'Orange. "Interested?" he asks, holding the bottle up.

Felicity stretches like a cat. "Trying to get me drunk?"

"Well it is a party," Oliver says solemnly.

"You make a good point." Felicity tilts her head, her hair sweeping over her bare shoulders. 

Oliver takes a slug on his way back to the couch and passes the bottle to her. Felicity takes it and lifts her chin to take a pull, the line of her throat exposed as she swallows. He loosens his tie, hypnotized by her, the lines and curves of her body, her tongue coming out to swipe her bottom lip. She passes the bottle back to him and he takes another slug, alcohol a cheap comfort but comfort nonetheless.

"Can I ask you something?" The words slide out of his mouth, fueled by alcohol, curiosity getting the better of him.

She smiles and okay, he's definitely drunk now because she looks like she's shimmering, a golden blur of hair and bare skin. "Sure."

He spins the cap of the bottle around in his palm. "Why'd you start dancing?"

Felicity sighs and motions for him to pass her back the liquor. He complies and she takes a slug, smacking her lips together before handing the bottle back. "I kind of fell into it," she says, her voice a little hushed, not like she's ashamed exactly, but like it's a secret. "I, um, I wanted to go to school but even after financial aide I couldn't completely afford it. I mean, maybe if I wanted to go to UNLV we - my mom and I - could've swung it but not for Cambridge."

Oliver raises an eyebrow. "You got into Harvard?"

"Oh - no, actually." To his surprise she flushes. "MIT."

"Wow," he says stupidly. "So you're like - really smart."

She snorts. "Yeah, well they don't care how smart you are when you can't afford tuition."

"But there are like - loans and stuff, right?" he says a little haltingly, thinking of how little he was aware of this stuff when he was in college, dropped out and enrolled over and over again with no thought to how it would affect his parents financially, because when you're a billionaire you don't have to think about that kind of stuff.

You don't really have to think at all, not when you have enough money to fix any careless mistake you might make, which worked just fine for him until he was shipwrecked off the coast of China. Money can buy almost anything but it can't bring back his father.

She nods, her blue eyes going a little glassy. "Yeah, between that and financial aide I had freshman year covered but I knew I'd have to do it all over again sophomore year and I started having nightmares about having to drop out halfway through my degree and like, waitress or get a shitty job in IT just so I wouldn't be homeless."

"So you started dancing."

Felicity stares down at her lap. "It was only supposed to be for a year. But then I was making so much cash, I mean _way_ more than I could've ever made babysitting or serving or any other job that doesn't require a degree, and then I thought, I could just dance until I had enough saved for all four years and then I could quit forever and go to school." 

"Is that still the plan?"

She reaches up carefully and manages to rub under her eyes without smearing her makeup. "I guess things are a little more complicated now."

He cocks his head. "What do you mean?" 

She shrugs, looking a little uncomfortable. "It's just - it's not as easy as it sounds, you know?"

He thinks about Caitlin in the passenger seat of his car, her hand over her eyes, her obvious exhaustion. Or last week, standing in his mother's office with the slow painful realization that she's never going to let him go without a fight.

"Yeah," he agrees, his voice a little thick. "Once you get into it it's hard to get out."

"Yeah," she says softly. "But it's like, different for you isn't it? I mean, you said you weren't really involved."

"Much to my mother's displeasure," he mutters.

"It bothers you," she murmurs, her chin cupped in her hand. "It does, doesn't it?"

"What?" He passes the bottle back to her.

She takes it from him, pausing as she raises the bottle to her mouth. "What they do. Your family."

He sighs, watching the way her lips wrap around the bottle to take another pull. "It's complicated," he says, aware that he's essentially throwing her own words back at her, like he's copping out from answering, but it's also the truth.

She swallows and points the bottle at him, and when he shakes his head to decline she reaches up and sticks it on the shelf behind a copy of The Great Gatsby. "Isn't it always?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to [LIngall](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LIngall/pseuds/LIngall), who helped me immensely with the new summary :)

“I've got bad news for you,” Felicity says to him one night, when they're doing their walk from the Emerald to Verdant. She's smiling, her blue eyes big and excited behind her glasses. “This is our last walk for awhile.”

“Oh yeah?” Oliver feels a little unidentifiable twinge at her words. He’s started to get used to it, having Felicity in his life dancing around him, blond and mysterious and intriguing, the feel of her small hand in his as they walk down the street.

“I got an apartment,” Felicity explains. “It's nothing fancy but it feels good to have my own place. I won't have to live out of a suitcase anymore, so, yay!”

Oliver gives her a soft smile. He can't deny that he’ll miss this a little, her companionship. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks!” she says brightly. “I'm actually, um, I'm having a housewarming party on Friday. It was Caitlin's idea, she's gonna invite all the girls and everyone.”

“That's nice,” he says lightly.

Felicity glances up at him, her face illuminated by the street lights. “Do you want to come?”

Oliver squints. “Really?”

“Oh!” Felicity suddenly looks flustered. “I just meant - I mean it'll be mostly Verdant people because I don't really know anyone else in the city yet, and you and I are friends, or at least, we're friendly, it just seemed natural to ask you but you're also, like, my boss I guess, although to be honest with you I've never actually see you _do_ anything there other than hang out with Sara, not that I'm judging you or anything, I mean, how you do business is none of my business” -

“Felicity,” he stops her, choking back a laugh at how panicked she suddenly looks. “I’d love to come to your party.”

Relieved breaks over her face like a wave. “Really?”

He grins a little, trying to remember how to do this - be easy, be fun, be the guy girls couldn't resist, before his father died in front of him, before Oliver found out what his family _really_ did, beyond the drugs and the girls and the backroom deals, things that were child's play compared to what he saw in China, before they broke his heart. “You'll be there, right?”

When she smiles it's like the sun coming out, warm and blinding. “Yeah.”

He squeezes her hand. “Then I'll be there.”

*

Caitlin is the one that extends an official invitation to Felicity’s party, she texts him Felicity’s address along with a time and date: _Friday, nine pm, dress casual, xo Caitlin_. Oliver pockets his phone and pushes off the bench he's been sitting on in front of the fountain in downtown Starling City.

Across the sidewalk Roy holds a hand up in greeting. Oliver walks over to him and they both turn, easily falling into a jog.

“How's it going?” Roy asks, calling into a steady rhythm next to Oliver, the sleeves of his red hoody pulled over his hands.

Oliver shrugs, focusing on the slap of his sneakers against the pavement. “It's going.”

“So you're really driving, huh?” Roy smirks.

Oliver spins around a women pushing a double stroller on the sidewalk. “Doesn't everyone in the family have something better to do than gossip about me?”

“People like to talk, man.” They get stuck at a red light, forced to jog in place until they finally get a green light. “Since when do you care what people say about you, anyway?”

“It's fine,” Oliver mutters, picking the pace back up.

“I don't know why you're complaining, it's practically a vacation.”

“You ever gone to a sorority party, Roy?”

The younger guy shoots him a bewildered look. “I'm barely eighteen and I'm from the Glades, so no. What's your point?”

“It sounds great, right? Hot girls, _drunk_ girls, dancing, all you have to do is stand there and look good.”

“Is this turning into a playboy Oliver story? I seriously don't get where you're going with this.”

“The point is, it sounds great until one girl gets so wasted she starts crying, and then maybe another one pukes so _her_ friend pukes, and before you know it you're a fucking babysitter.”

Roy just shrugs as he runs. “Better than working the street.”

“That's what Sara said.”

“Sara's a smart girl.”

“Sara's a pain in my ass.”

“ _You're_ the one that fucked her,” Roy points out, as if Oliver needs a reminder of how he blew up what he had with Laurel for good.

“Not the point,” he grits out.

Roy whistles. “Someone needs to get laid.”

“Also not the point.”

They do a loop around the business district and into the park, slowing down to a brisk walk. Roy rolls his shoulders and shakes out his wrists, glancing sideways at Oliver. “Hey, have you heard anything about a new player recently?”

Oliver shoots him a sharp look. “You mean the Triad.”

“I said new.” Roy rests his chin in his palm and cracks his neck. “Couple guys got in a scuffle with some new dealer at Poisen. Got a little ugly.”

Oliver sighs and leans up against a tree to stretch his quads. “And you're telling me this why?”

Roy’s mouth twists. “Just wondering if you've heard anything, that's all. It seems… I don't know.”

“What?”

“There's something not right about it,” Roy says hesitantly. “For one thing it's too obvious - everyone in the city knows we own the clubs, you'd have to be either fucking stupid to sell on our territory or” -

“Someone's trying to move in.” _Shit_.

“I'm not trying to drag you into anything,” Roy says. “I just thought you should know what's going on.”

Oliver nods and switches legs. “You figure anything out about this guy? Contacts?”

Roy shakes his head. “His phone was totally wiped. But he um, he had a tattoo on his wrist.”

“Gang?” Oliver guesses.

“If it is I've never heard of them.” Roy reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out his phone to show Oliver a photo of it.

Oliver squints at it - it's the size of a postage stamp, it looks like a rectangle with some smaller boxes filled in, with numbers maybe. “Is that - is that a _calculator?_ ”

“I think so. For a second I was like, okay fine, whatever, he's a math nerd, but you ever heard of a math nerd slinging in the Glades?”

Oliver flinches, thinking suddenly of Felicity. “People do all kinds of things for money.”

“I guess,” Roy says uneasily, and pockets his phone. “So, you going to Felicity's thing on Saturday?

“Yeah.” Oliver stretches his arms up over his head.

Roy grins salaciously. “Good, at least that'll solve one of our problems.”

“It's not like that between us,” Oliver says automatically. 

Roy raises an eyebrow. “I run into her all the time at the Emerald - trust me, if you wanted to make that happen you could.”

Oliver swallows, weighing his attraction to Felicity against his deep rooted suspicion that something isn't right about her. “Good to know.”

*

The night of Felicity’s party Oliver puts on a grey henley tee shirt and a pair of jeans, drives over to the liquor store to pick up a bottle of Moët before plugging Felicity's address into the Bentley’s GPS and driving to her place. To his relief she lives in a decent neighborhood, nothing ritzy but not the Glades either. She's renting a cute little condo, Oliver gets out of the car and locks it, tucking the champagne under one arm and walks up the sidewalk to knock on her door.

Felicity opens it, dressed in a pale pink sweater that dips low in the front and a pair of tight dark wash skinny jeans. “Oliver!” she exclaims, rising up in her tiptoes to hug him. “You came!”

“Hey.” He hugs her with one arm, secretly relishing the feeling of her body pressed against his for a moment before pulling away and pushing the Moët into her hands. “This is for you.”

“You didn't have to get me anything,” she says, but she's smiling. “Come on, all the alcohol is in the kitchen.”

Oliver follows her inside, glancing around at the space. Directly ahead of him is a small living room, he can see Caitlin standing in the center holding court with all the girls. Felicity hooks left and Oliver follows her into a kitchen, placing the champagne on the counter next to several bottles of vodka, gin, whiskey and various mixers. Music is playing through the speakers, something low volume, R&B, a soft steady beat filling his head.

“Felicity!” It's the dark skinned girl he saw Felicity talking to at his welcome home party, waving at Felicity from the doorway of the kitchen. “C’mere, Caitlin's got shots!”

“One second Iris!” Felicity calls out before turning her attention back to Oliver. “So, help yourself to a drink, everyone's in the living room, feel free to hide in here when you need a break.”

She winks, reminding him of that night when they got drunk in his mother’s study, the soft blur of her skin and her hair and her sparkly dress. Oliver reaches for her on instinct, brushing her waist with his fingertips. “Sounds good.”

She smiles and he can't help but think of what Roy told him, that if he wanted something to happen between them it could. She rushes back over to Iris, who catches her by the hand and pulls her away. Oliver mixes himself a whiskey and Coke, heavy on the whiskey, and crosses the kitchen to lean against the doorway. He spots Sara from across the living room and she slinks over to him, dressed in a black crop top and tiny denim shorts, her hair slicked back from her face.

“Hey baby,” she murmurs, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Hey, how's it going?” Oliver kisses her back before taking a sip of his drink, watching across the room as Felicity takes a shot from Caitlin and tosses it back.

“I had a feeling you'd show up here.” Sara leans up against his side, bumping her hip against his.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Sara snorts. “Please Ollie. I see the way you look at her.”

“We're just friends,” he mutters.

“We were just friends,”’ Sara reminds him, snickering.

“That's different,” he says with a sigh. “She's - different.”

“Wait” She pulls back to examine his face. “Oh my god, you _like_ her.”

“Sara” he hisses.

“Oh relax, Ollie. It's good, god knows you need to get laid.”

“Is everyone talking about my sex life?” he asks, mystified.

“Don't you mean lack theroff?” she teases.

“That's cold, Lance.”

“Oh don't be like that.” Sara wraps one arm around his waist. “You know you're my favorite grumpy bear.”

“You're not nearly as cute as you think you are and neither is that nickname.”

“Don't be ridiculous, I'm adorable.” Sara flutters her eyelashes at him. “What's got you all twisted up, anyway? You're hot, she's hot, more importantly she finds you tolerable”-

“Is this supposed to make me feel better? Because if it is you really suck at pep talks.”

“I'm just saying, what's the problem? What's with the face and everything?”

Oliver sighs into his drink. “I - have some reservations.”

Sara raises an eyebrow. “About?”

“Her circumstances.”

“I don't get it.”

“The circumstances of her employment.”

Sara shrugs. “So talk to Tommy.”

“I did. He said Isabel sent her to him.”

“Okay…?”

“Felicity said Isabel recruited her from Vegas. She gave her an _incentive_.”

“Huh.” She bites her lip. “I don't know, Ollie.”

“It's weird,” he says quietly. “It's weird, right?”

“I guess,” Sara says hesitantly. “But…”

“But what?”

“Look,” she says softly. “You weren't here, you have no idea what it was like. Everyone was panicking, people were running around like chickens with their heads cut off, no one was sure who was in charge anymore. I don't think anyone was really paying attention to one girl who's only a dancer, Ollie.”

“So what, I'm just paranoid?” He tosses back half his drink right there, needing that kick, that warm reassurance alcohol gives him.

“I'm not saying that. We're all paranoid anyway, it comes with the territory. And yes, I agree with you that the circumstances are a little strange, but she's just a dancer, Ollie, she's a sweet girl but it's not like she's actually important, I don't see any real reason to be worried right now.”

Oliver nods. He doesn't like it but she's right, he doesn't have any proof that there's anything wrong with Felicity other than the unusual circumstances of how she came to work for them. “Is that your way of telling me to go for it?”

Sara tilts her chin and Oliver follows her line of sight. Felicity's walking over to him, her cheeks flushed. “Oliver!” she exclaims, and flashes Sara a smile. “Hey Sara.”

Sara gives her a smile back. “Hey, I see Nyssa, catch you guys later!”

She walks away, leaving Oliver alone with Felicity. She sways slightly in front of him, blond waves tumbling down over her shoulders. “Are you having a good time?” she asks. “I'm sure this probably isn't your scene”-

He puts his drink down to catch her by the wrist. “Felicity.”

“Sorry!” She slaps a palm over her forehead. “The drinking doesn't really help the babbling thing.”

“You're lucky you're cute then,” he teases.

She blinks, her eyes impossibly wide. “You think I'm cute?”

He's caught, he has no choice other to duck his head so his lips are next to her ear. “Yeah,” he confesses, running his thumb over her wrist. “Definitely.”

He can hear her suck in a breath. “You're cute too. I mean in like, a manly way of course.”

His face is too close to hers, he can smell her perfume, her shampoo, suddenly dizzy. “Want to dance?” he asks, even though that's not usually his thing, because he has the feeling that if he keeps talking he's going to say something stupid and regretful about just how much he really thinks she's cute.

Felicity reaches up to loop her arms around his neck and just like that they're dancing in the corner of the room. “I really like you,” she whispers. “I know you're like, kind of my boss…”

“Not really,” he says breathlessly, grateful for the whiskey flooding his body with warmth. “I told you, I really don't have much to do with the family business.”

Felicity runs her nails lightly against his neck and he shivers. “Right.”

“Hey,” Oliver confesses, because Sara’s right, Felicity's a sweet girl, and she clearly has no idea what she's gotten herself into. She needs him, and he wants her. Maybe it doesn't need to be more complicated than that. “I like you too.”

Felicity smiles and rests her cheek against his chest. “I’m glad you came.”

Oliver tightens his arms around her. “Me too.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been a million years but I'm back! I got so overwhelmed with projects that I had to take a step back from this for the sake of my sanity for awhile. I can't promise how quickly updates will be but just to be clear I have every intention of finishing this eventually. In the meantime I hope you all enjoy Chapter 5!

Oliver's sitting behind the bar at Verdant the Friday after Felicity’s party, drinking a vodka on the rocks while Sara dances around him mixing cocktails and Felicity dances up on the platform stage closest to him, swirling her hips in time to the music. He hasn't seen her since her party except for at the club, passing each other in the back hallway after her shift, hugging goodnight in the parking lot or the bus stop down the street. It's friendly, casual, the way they've been since she appeared in his life that night out of nowhere, but something feels different now, a tension between them he can't help but be aware of.

“You're staring,” Sara chastises, shaking a cocktail mixture in his direction.

Felicity's skin sparkles with gold body glitter, highlighting her toned legs and flat stomach, the curve of her ass in her black hot pants. Her hair is down and wavy, her eyes are smoked out and her lips practically drip with gloss. She looks like a girl in a magazine, something shining and perfect and unreal.

He secretly prefers the real Felicity better; the one who wears glasses and a ponytail and showed up before her shift tonight in leggings and a cropped sweatshirt but he can't look away from this version of her; it's like watching a magician transform herself in front of an audience, overwhelmed by her powers of illusion and deception.

Sara slaps him upside his head. “Pull it together, you're practically drooling.”

“Can you blame me?” he mutters.

She tilts her head thoughtfully at Felicity. “Not really.”

“Exactly.” He swallows back more vodka and coughs when it burns.

Sara rolls her eyes at him. “What's taking you so long? You obviously want to bone her, ask her out already.”

“Jesus Sara.”

“What?” She smiles innocently at him. “Are you saying you aren't interested? ‘Cus baby, that isn't the face of a man who's uninterested.”

“That's not the point.”

Sara gives him a look that's almost concerned. “Then what is the point? I don't get why you're being like this. You've never acted like this when it comes to getting what - or who - you want. Like, ever.”

Oliver gets up and puts his glass, still half full, down on a tray of dirty dishes. “Maybe I'm not that person anymore, Sara.”

“Ollie.” She lines up a row of shot glasses and shoots him a sideways concerned glance. “You - just because China was a complete clusterfuck, which was absolutely not your fault by the way, you… you still deserve to be happy. You know that right?”

He opens his mouth to say _I guess so_ , or _maybe_ , or even _mind your own business Sara_ but there's a shout from the dance floor and he and Sara both whip around. There's a cluster of guys gathered around the base of Felicity's pedestal and she's stopped dancing, frozen like a statue, because the flash of a camera phone is going off and one of the guys is pushing the other two, their arms dangerously close to her feet, and from across the room Oliver spots Roy racing over there to break it up before it becomes a full out brawl.

Oliver leaps over the bar without even thinking and pushes past patrons so he can get in on the action. He and Roy approach from opposite sides and Roy's shouting as he grabs someone's arm and gets hit in the face immediately for his trouble, Oliver shoulders into the middle of the group of guys, his fists up, but then he gets a good look at them and everything swirls in front of him because they all have dark sweatshirt hoods pulled up over their hair, neon lights from up above flashing over their shadowed faces and suddenly he's running through a Chinese marketplace with fear pounding in his temples; his chest seizes up and his opponent sees the perfect opportunity and shoves Oliver hard.

He stumbles back into Roy and just like that the other guys melt into the crowd and vanish before Oliver can chase after them, leaving him and Roy standing together, dazed.

“What the hell?” Roy shouts over the pounding of the music. “Do you know who those guys were?”

Oliver shakes his head and blinks rapidly, trying to stay here, reminding himself that he's not running through a foreign country, chased by arrows and assassins, that he's here, in his own territory, safe. He points to Roy's bleeding lower lip and the other boy winces and wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“You should put ice on that,” Oliver instructs him. 

Roy nods and tilts his head closer to Oliver. “You okay?”

Oliver swallows back the bitter taste of panic in his throat and nods. “Yeah, go clean up.”

Roy sighs and heads over to the bar, where Sara’s waiting with a napkin and a bag of ice. Oliver runs shaking hands over his face and then looks up, where Felicity is still frozen, her arms crossed over her chest, shivering even though they keep the thermostat set at seventy-one degrees, winter and summer.

Oliver steps up to her podium and holds his arms out to her. “Hey,” he shouts over the music. “C’mere, come down.”

Felicity places her hands in his and lets Oliver hoist her down. He wraps one arm around her shoulders, leaning in to examine her face. “Are you okay, are you hurt?”

She shakes her head, her bottom lip trembling. “Just a little freaked out.”

Oliver waves to get Sara’s attention and draws his finger across his throat; Sara nods and gives him a thumbs up. “Come on,” he says to Felicity. “You can get off the floor, Sara and I are cutting you for the night.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, looking relieved and small under his arm.

He guides her off the dance floor and around the edge of the bar, and out the door into the back hallway. “Did you take the bus here?”

“Yeah.” She sounds tired, in the harsh fluorescent light her makeup looks garish, emphasizing her pale skin, her big eyes, her skin sparkling everywhere.

Oliver sighs and pats her shoulder. “Go get changed, I'll drive you home.”

“Okay.” Her mouth twists as she pulls away, the bottom of her ass cheeks peeking out under the hem of her hot pants as she stumbles down to the door to the changing room and goes inside.

Oliver only has to wait for a few minutes until Felicity comes back out, changed into leggings and her cropped hoodie, a sliver of a flat stomach exposed. Her makeup is still on but her hair has been pulled back into a sloppy bun and she's wearing her Nikes, the strap of her gym bag dangling from her elbow. Oliver takes the bag from her wordlessly and digs his car keys out of his back pocket. Felicity shuffles along next to him as they walk out the back entrance and into the night, slipping her hand through his as they cross the parking lot to get to the Bentley.

He opens the passenger door for her and Felicity gets into the car, takes her bag from him and sets it on the floor by her feet. Oliver shuts her door and jogs around the front of the car to get into the driver's seat. He casually rests his right arm across the back of her seat as he reverses out of his spot, turns around in the lot and drives towards Felicity's new place. There's no traffic this late at night so he makes it in ten minutes flat, parks outside her condo and unbuckles his seatbelt. Felicity is silent as she follows suite, her fingers trembling as she reaches down for her bag.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Are you okay?”

She blinks rapidly, leaning back in her seat with her bag in her lap. “They were taking pictures of me.”

Oliver freezes, remembering the flash of a camera going off. “What?”

“I don't know, I couldn't - the flash was so bright, I just kind of froze, and when I looked down they were all looking at me, and… and…”

“What?” Oliver asks, trying to keep his voice neutral so she doesn't know how badly he wants to freak out right now.

“I heard them say something,” she whispers. “One of them - he said, _that's her_ and he…” 

Felicity shuts her eyes and Oliver leans across the consol so he can cup her shoulder. “Hey, what?” he asks her. “It's okay, you can tell me.”

When she looks at him her eyes are wide and fearful. “He - he reached out and tried to grab me, and one of the other guys said, _we're not supposed to make contact_ , and then they starting fighting and then you and Roy showed up.”

Oliver stares at her, wondering what the hell is going on. “Did you recognize them?”

She shakes her head. “Between the hoods and all the lights I couldn't get a clear look.”

“Yeah me either,” he mutters, chagrined. “Look, I'll go through all the footage with Tommy, we’ll find them, okay?”

Felicity's expression softens. “It's not your fault Oliver.”

“They came into _my_ club, harassed _my_ girl, I think I bear the bulk of responsibility for this one Felicity.”

She stares at him. “Oliver.”

“What?”

“You just called me your girl,” she points out softly. “Rather possessively, I might add.”

He winces a little internally. “I'm sorry. I just” -

“It's okay,” she says quickly. “I - I know what you meant.”

Oliver glances out at the dark street. “Okay if I walk you to your door? I know you're a tough city girl and you can handle yourself but it would make me feel better if I knew you got inside okay.”

She offers him a tight smile. “Yeah, sure.”

She even holds his hand all the way up to her front door, so beautiful and small and all he wants is to protect her, keep her safe, all the while trying to work it out in his head - why her, tonight, with those guys, if it was random or if it's something to do with her, her history, her past that he knows absolutely nothing about. If she's a beautiful girl with a bomb inside her, waiting for him to get close enough before it goes off for maximum damage, the same way he and his father were lured to China under the guise of a simple business deal and then were hunted like animals.

Felicity pulls her keys out of her bag, her skin and her hair glowing under her porch light, and she looks fragile and young, innocent, and it's enough to make him wonder if Sara's right and he's just paranoid, making up elaborate theories about Felicity to justify keeping a wall up when really he's just denying himself something he wants because he thinks he doesn't deserve it.

_You don't know what it was like_ , Sara had said, and she's right, all Oliver knows is the way it feels to be blindsided by betrayal, watching his father die in front of him, running for his life.

It seems ridiculous suddenly, to not trust Felicity. She's just a girl after all, a girl whose dreams got pushed to the side due to circumstances outside her control, a girl so defenseless a man could kill her with his bare hands without breaking a sweat. Maybe she's like him, he thinks, someone who had a plan for their life only for it to get crushed by cold harsh reality and she's just struggling to survive, maybe he's been wary of her because looking at her makes him feel things he isn't ready to feel, like affection and desire and softness, things he thought he doesn't get to have, now.

Maybe he was just being a coward, looking for excuses instead of facing the reality that's he's lost without his father, damaged, some fundamental part of him destroyed.

Oliver takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he's a survivor, a fighter, that he's braver than this. “Hey, are you working tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I'm always on Saturdays.” Felicity unlocks her door and slips her keys into the pocket of her hoodie. “Why?”

“Can I give you a ride?” he offers. 

She blinks up at him, looking a little surprised. “Really?”

Oliver shrugs. “I don't mind. I'm going there anyway.”

“Oh right.” Felicity lingers, her hand on the knob. “Well, if you don't mind.”

“I'd like it,” he clarifies, suddenly feeling a little panicked, that he's being too cavalier. “I mean, I like spending time with you.”

“Oh.” Her face breaks out in a smile, guileless and pure and all Oliver can feel is warm relief, something settling in his chest, something that feels like coming home. “I like spending time with you too.”

“Pick you up at nine?”

“Great! It's a date! I mean, not a date, I mean, an arrangement, a ride arrangement obviously, it's not a date, I know that's not what you meant, I just meant” -

“Felicity.” He can't help but grin, her rambling is adorable.

Felicity pushes her door open and throws her bag inside, looking a little embarrassed. “Yeah?”

“When I ask you on a date you'll know it's a date.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks go pink and then she's rising up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around her neck. ”You said when.”

“I did,” he acknowledges, because fuck it, he can't live like this anymore, forcing himself to be alone, keeping everyone at arm's length. 

“I'm going to hold you to that, you know.”

Oliver laughs, dipping his head a little so he can bury his face in the side of her neck for a moment, warm and sweet smelling. “I’d expect nothing less.”

She kisses his cheek quickly and pulls away. “See you tomorrow?”

Oliver squeezes her waist as he lets her go. “I'll be here.”

“Okay.” Felicity smiles and it's like everything from earlier tonight has just dissolved, the fear and the panic melting into nothing just by the power of her smile. “Goodnight Oliver.”

He smiles back. “Goodnight Felicity.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all had a safe and happy New Years! I’m so happy to be back here, I didn’t realize how much I missed this story until I had time to start working on it again.

“I don’t get it.” Olive frowns down at the computer monitor in Tommy’s office. “Where are they?”

“We must have missed them.” Tommy rolls up the sleeve of his burgundy button down and hits rewind. “Okay, here, c’mon.”

Oliver rubs his eyes and leans over Tommy’s shoulder to view the security footage of Verdant’s entrance. “We’ve already been through this twice.”

Tommy rubs his chin. “What if they didn’t come in the front?”

“What’s do you mean?”

“If you take the hallway past the VIP room it leads to the service entrance.”

Oliver stares at him. “You think they snuck in? Really?”

Tommy turns his head to the side and cracks his neck. “You got any other ideas?”

“Not really.”

“I don’t get it,” Tommy says. “Why go through all the trouble for no reason?

Oliver closes his eyes and brings it back, the memory of the guy yelling, the flash of the phone, how they’d melted into the crowd before he could get a good look at any of them. “They were taking pictures of Felicity.”

“Oliver,” Tommy groans. “Not this again.”

“What? I’m serious Tommy, they were there because of her.”

Tommy squints at him. “Are you sure this isn’t just the paranoia taking? I mean, no offense buddy but considering everything that’s happened recently…”

“What’s that saying? Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean I’m not being followed?”

Tommy sighs. “Did you ask Felicity about it?”

“She said she doesn’t know anything.”

“And we believe her?”

“She was scared, Tommy. You didn’t see her when it happened, she just froze. She didn’t know who they were.”

“So the question is, why would a bunch of guys go to all the trouble of sneaking into our club to take a photo of one of our dancers and then sneak back out?”

“Exactly.”

“Look Oliver, you know we do background on everyone, same for Felicity. She’s clean, she came in with Isabel, she has no known connections to anyone that could have problems with us; whatever this is, if this is about anything and not just a bunch of creeps with an obsession, it’s about her, not us.”

“Except she works for us Tommy. If she’s in trouble…”

“Then she’s brought it right to our front door.” Tommy rolls his shoulders back. “Look I’ll double up on security tonight, okay? I don’t know what else to tell you, if she says she doesn’t know anything…” Tommy trails off, suddenly looking contemplative.

“What?” Oliver asks.

“You know, Isabel’s coming tonight,” Tommy says thoughtfully.

Oliver raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah she called ahead to hold a VIP table, she’s having _drinks_ with Helena.”

“Bertinelli?”

“The one and only.”

Oliver makes a face. “When did they become friends?”

“Oh, what’s that saying? Two snakes of a feather?”

“Great,” Oliver mutters. “Sounds fun.”

“Oh come on, how hard would that be? Helena has a good relationship with us, we’re allies, and even though Isabel’s a cold hearted soulless you know what, you can play nice for one night, can’t you? If you’re really curious and all that.”

Oliver fiddles with the zipper of his hoodie. “I better go home and change then.”

*

Oliver goes back to the loft, eats a chicken sandwich for dinner and runs upstairs to take a hot shower. He runs a little gel through his hair when he gets out, sprays on cologne and changes into a slate grey suit with a pale blue button down and navy skinny tie. He slips on his loafers, pockets his phone and wallet, grabs his keys and goes down to the parking garage where the Bentley is waiting for him.

Having a plan help him focus, he drives through Starling City in the direction of Felicity, lights glittering out his windows, passing by well dressed couples on the sidewalks going out to dinner and bars and nightclubs and here he is right in the middle of it, cushioned by the wealth of his luxury car, his last name, his famous face. Back in the driver’s seat of his life, playing the role he was destined to - the billionaire playboy, the handsome prince, the spoiled night club owner.

The person his parents raised him to be, the person he was supposed to be one, would’ve become the past three months hadn’t happened, but it did, and now it all feels like an elaborate charade, just a game he’s playing, the real Oliver hidden under his expensive suit and pretty face, a person forged from fire and blood and scar tissue.

When he gets to Felicity’s he parks and jogs up the walk. She comes out before he gets to the door, dressed in nude pink leggings and a grey crewneck sweatshirt, her bag slung over her shoulder. “Hey,” she calls out, locking the door behind her. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“My pleasure.” He takes her bag from her and Felicity cocks her head, eyeing him up and down.

“You look nice tonight,” she comments. “I mean, you always look nice, you’re you, have you seen you? Of course you have, stupid question, I just mean, you’re dressed nicely tonight, or, well, exceptionally nicely I mean” -

“Thank you.” He cuts her off before she can really get on a roll and grins, reaching down for her hand. 

“You’re welcome.” She smiles back and ducks her head a little. “So um, any particular reason for the suit?”

“I’m joining a friend for drinks in the VIP section,” he explains, twining his fingers through hers as they walk to the car.

“Oh?”

Oliver unlocks the Bentley and lets go of her hand so he can put her bag in the backseat. “Isabel’s going to be there too,” he says lightly.

Felicity glances sideways at him as he opens her door for her. “Really?”

“That’s the rumor anyway.”

Felicity climbs into the car and turns to look at him as she reaches up for her seatbelt. “I sort of had the impression you weren’t a fan.”

Oliver hesitates, one hand resting on the open door. “Felicity, how well do you know Isabel?”

She shrugs. “I don’t, really.”

“But she recruited you.”

“So?” Felicity picks at her ruby painted fingernails. “She happened to be in Vegas for a meeting that happened to be at the club I happened to be dancing at, which, sidenote, is kind of an inappropriate place for a business meeting but I guess that’s what happens when you let men run the world” -

“Felicity,” he laughs, because it’s just so amusing, her inability to stay on one topic for more than six seconds.

“Sorry! I just meant, she offered me a job dancing here and I needed the cash, so. I signed her contract, she handed me over to Tommy and he officially hired me at Verdant, and that’s all the contact I’ve ever had for her.”

Oliver stares at her. “What do you mean, signed a contract?”

Felicity looks away. “I told you, she offered me money.”

“You signed a contract directly with Isabel?”

“Yes, so?” she snaps, sounding a little irritated. “It was a lot of money, Isabel wanted some insurance. Why do you even care?”

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “Sorry, you’re right, it’s none of my business.”

He closes her door and jogs around the front of the car, gets into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. Next to him Felicity is curled up in her seat with her back against the door, looking worried.

“Is this about last night?” she asks.

Oliver sighs quietly to himself as he turns on his headlights and pulls away from the curb. “Tommy and I went through the security footage but we couldn’t find anything. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Well, you tried right? It’s okay.”

“Felicity…”

“What?”

Oliver accelerates through a yellow light and changes lanes. “Never mind.”

His questions have clearly ruined the mood, they drive towards Verdant in awkward silence together, Oliver unable to figure out how to shift the energy back and Felicity apparently unwilling to take pity on him and give him an opening. By the time he parks behind Verdant he’s fallen into a shame spiral; he never used to be like this, untrusting, paranoid, unable to take anything or anyone at face value. 

It’s like he came back a different person, someone who doesn’t understand his world anymore, who sees danger everywhere, who can’t remember how to seduce a beautiful girl he genuinely likes when he used to attract women as easy as breathing. 

Felicity gets out of the car without waiting for him to open her door and hops out, gets her bag herself and clutches onto the strap while he locks the car and pockets his keys. She starts to walk ahead without him and something clenches in his chest, he can’t let her be another thing he’s screwed up, he can’t let her go like this.

“Felicity, wait.” He reaches out and grabs her wrist.

Her Nikes scrape against the blacktop as she turns into his hold, looking at him with hard eyes. “What?”

He runs his thumb along the inside of her wrist, the skin so thin and delicate it makes him shiver. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Her face softens. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t. I don’t really like talking about it I guess.”

“Why?”

She blinks and reaches up with her free hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It makes me feel bad.”

He tilts his head curiously. “Why?”

She lets out a shaky laugh. “Why? Seriously?”

“Felicity” -

“Look I’m sure this is a difficult concept for you to grasp but I’m not like you Oliver, some people have to do things they don’t want to do because they need money. You think I like shaking my ass every night for drunk trust fund babies? Well I don’t, but I don’t have the luxury of not doing it because maybe one day it’ll be enough for me to pay for school free and clear and I can finally get my degree and get a good job that pays for a sliver of the kind of lifestyle that you take for granted.”

“I - Felicity, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to” -

“Remind me that I’m a nobody who let a stranger basically _buy_ me because I was that desperate?”

“Hey,” he says sharply. “Don’t say that.”

“Say what?” she mutters. “It’s true. And I’m not proud of it, okay?”

“Felicity.” He backs her up against the car, his hands going up to her face, because he needs her to listen to him, he needs her to understand. “You’re not a nobody, okay? You’re - you’re smart, and beautiful, and funny and so what if you’re dancing for money right now, that doesn’t mean anything, except that you’re willing to work hard for what you want, that you’re strong, and determined, and that just makes you even more special, so don’t ever talk about yourself like that because it isn’t true, okay?”

She stares at him, her beautiful blue eyes dark and stormy. “Okay.”

She leans forward and drops her forehead to his shoulder and Oliver cups one hand against her cheek, his other arm coming around her shoulders to hold her. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I just get so tired of this sometimes. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs.

She stays like that, her body resting against him and she feels so fragile, small and soft and breakable. Oliver runs his thumb along her cheekbone, marveling at the silk of her skin, the heat of her body. After a moment Felicity lifts her head and carefully steps out of his embrace, a wistful smile on her face.

“We should probably go in,” she says. “I still have to get changed.”

“Okay.” Oliver glance over his shoulder at Verdant and then looks back at her. “Just - how about this? I know when we walk into that building you’re a dancer and I’m” -

“The guy who signs my checks?” she jokes.

Oliver chuckles. “I just mean - I’m aware. Of who I am when I’m in there. The person that I have to be. What - What everyone expects from me. But when we’re not in there, when you’re not working - do you think we could be like… just be two people who like each other?”

Felicity tilts her head and then she smiles and Oliver’s head spins because when she looks like at him like that it makes him ache, it makes him want to be the kind of person who deserves it, to have someone look at him like that. “Yeah,” she says. “That sounds good. Healthy. Boundaries. Boundaries are good.”

“So we’re good?” He holds out his hand to her and to his relief she takes it.

“Yeah,” she says, still smiling. “We’re good.”

They go into Verdant through the back entrance and get intercepted by Tommy in the back hallway that leads to the dressing room, who snaps his fingers and rushes over to them, looking harried. “Felicity, just the girl I was looking for, I’m putting you in the VIP room with Iris tonight.”

Felicity blinks at him. “Really?”

Tommy raises an eyebrow. “Are you complaining?”

“No! Definitely not complaining, Iris told me the tips in VIP are like, twice is good, and my mama didn’t raise no fool, oh my god, I don’t know why I just said that, I mean, what I meant is, I’m not stupid, well, actually I’m a genius, like if you wanna be technical about it, and I know better than to turn down extra money and you know what I better go get changed, thanks Tommy!”

Felicity flashes him a grin and turns to run towards the dressing room.

“Drive you home later?” Oliver calls out after her.

“Sounds good!” she yells, and disappears behind the door.

Oliver tilts his head at Tommy. “VIP, huh?”

Tommy grins and slings an arm around Oliver’s shoulders. “You’re welcome.”

“What about security?”

“I’ve got Roy in VIP, Barry and Cisco at the door, and I may have borrowed Diggle from the Emerald to walk the floor.”

Oliver heaves out a sigh of relief. “Thanks Tommy.”

“I’ve got your back brother, you know that.”

They head into the main room of the club and Oliver hangs around behind the bar while Tommy goes over bar prep with Sara and Nyssa. When they’re finished Tommy walks over to join him. “Helena should be here if you wanna go over there.”

Oliver exhales and shakes out his legs as he gets up. “Here goes nothing.”

“Don’t get eaten,” Tommy advises. “Between Isabel and Helena, well…” 

He sticks his tongue out in an obscene expression and Oliver chokes on a laugh. “I’ll come back in one piece, promise.”

The VIP area is an elevated room off to the left side of the dance floor, separated by a short set of stairs and gauzy emerald green curtains. Roy’s stationed at the top of the steps wearing jeans and his red hoodie, a scab healing over his bottom lip.

“Hey man.” Roy reaches out with his fist and taps his knuckles against Oliver’s. “You want a drink?”

“The usual, thanks.”

“No problem, I’ll have Nyssa bring it over.” Roy taps his earpiece and parts the curtain enough for Oliver to see Helena sitting alone at a table. “You here for this?”

“It’s complicated,” Oliver mutters.

Roy grins. “I’ll bet.”

Oliver steps through the curtains and Helena spots him right away, pushing back from her chair to walk over to him, hands smoothing down the skirt of her midnight blue strapless dress. 

“Oliver, how are you?” She steps up to him and kisses his cheek. “I haven’t seen you since the funeral.”

“I’m alright, how are you?” He kisses her back, her hair silky against his cheek. He’s known Helena since they were kids, their families are friendly for the most part, they work around each other and occasionally, together, in peace. “Are you here alone?”

“I’m meeting Isabel, actually.” Helena raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Daddy asked me to pass along some samples. She’s late though, come keep me company? You know I hate drinking alone.”

“Sure.” He's so proud of himself, how easy that just was, amazed at how he’d forgotten how simple his life is when he’s Oliver Queen, how all he has to do is show up and smile and in return is given everything he wants, like magic.

He follows her over to a small table in the corner of the room and takes the chair that’s back against the wall because it has the best vantage point in the room, from here he can see all the other tables filled with young beautiful people dressed in shiny glittering evening wear, the curtained entrance and Roy’s silhouette standing guard, the raised platforms to his left where Iris and Felicity are dancing. Felicity’s covered in gold body glitter while Iris’ skin turns a shimmery silvery-blue every time the light hits her. Their hair is done the same way, big fluffy waves, and the muscles in their legs pronounced by the sky high heels they’re wearing, their exposed abs rippling as they move.

He knows it’s just a fantasy but he can’t help but stare at them, which is the point after all, it’s the reason they have the girls dancing here in the first place - to project a certain kind of image, one of pleasure, beauty, luxury, seduction. It’s what keeps customers coming in the doors, what gets the cash flowing: catering to the whims of young wealthy beautiful people, creating an environment where life is a never ending party, a merry go round of lights and music and alcohol and sex.

Across the table from him Helena smirks. “Enjoying the entertainment?”

He shrugs and goes with honesty, there’s no point in pretending he isn’t at all affected. “They’re beautiful.”

“They always are.” Helena looks over her shoulder and waves at someone. “Her majesty has arrived.”

“Lovely,” Oliver mutters under his breath.

Isabel steps through the curtains; she must have come straight from the office because she’s dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit and black patent leather pumps, a cream Prada bag slung over one arm. She saunters their way just ahead of Nyssa, who’s carrying a tray with three cocktails on it. Isabel bends down to kiss Helena’s cheek before she slides into the chair to Oliver’s right and gives him a cold smile. “Oliver. What are you doing here?”

He leans back a little so Nyssa can set an ice cold glass of Russian vodka in front of him. “Thanks Nyssa.” He shoots her a quick smile of gratitude before turning back to Isabel. “Oh, I’m just making the rounds. And keeping the beautiful Miss Bertinelli company, it’s rude to let a beautiful woman drink alone.”

Isabel takes a sip of her martini and nods her head at Nysaa, who presses her palms together in front of her chest in namaste before walking away. Helena picks up her lemon drop and licks sugar off the rim. “Oliver and I were admiring the entertainment.”

“Mm.” Isabel takes another drink and lets out a satisfied sigh. “Which one?”

Helena looks to her right towards Felicity and Iris, then at Oliver, tilting her head like she’s evaluating him. “The blonde.”

He blinks at her, surprised, and she laughs, raising her glass to him. “I know your type, Oliver.”

He manages a cheerful smile and swallows down ice cold vodka. “I suppose you do.”

“That’s Dasha,” Isabel supplies. “She’s our newest girl. Pretty little thing, isn’t she?”

“Sure,” he agrees, pretending not to be affected by it, Felicity swirling her hips merely a few yards away from him. “Where’d she come from anyway? I don’t remember seeing her around before…”

Helena makes a sympathetic noise and reaches across the table to pat his hand. Isabel takes another sip of her drink, her eyes a little glazed over as she watches Felicity dance. “I found her at a club in Vegas. Sweet girl, we talked for a bit. I just couldn’t help myself, I guess.”

“Oh?” he asks politely, feigning bored interest. “So you poached her?”

Isabel’s glass dangles from her fingertips, her eyes still on Felicity. “I saw an opportunity Oliver.”

“An opportunity?” 

“Mmhm.” She tosses back the rest of her cocktail and snaps her fingers to get Roy’s attention, holding up the empty glass. “But that’s nothing for you to worry about, seeing as you aren’t interested in the business anymore, right? Unless it benefits you personally that is. I don’t have to tell you to stay away from my girls, do I? They’re here to work, not to be your source of personal entertainment.”

“You know Isabel, they work in my club so technically they’re my girls, not yours,” he informs her. “But I appreciate the warning.” 

She clicks her tongue. “Still haven’t learned how to stay out of trouble I see.”

“Guess not,” he says cheerfully.

“Well this is absolutely fascinating,” Helen interjects dryly. “But speaking of business.” 

She reaches underneath the table and pulls out a little black and white Sephora bag stuffed with red tissue, and puts it down in front of Isabel.

“Interesting packaging,” Isabel notes, looking amused, digging through the tissue paper. She pulls something out that look like a lipstick, takes off the cap and peers into the tube. “Have these been sampled yet?”

“Not personally.” Helena flips her hair over her shoulder. “But let’s just say the boys have given it positive reviews.”

“Noted.” Isabel looks around and waves gratefully at a drink runner who’s standing near the curtains looking a little lost. A fresh martini gets placed down on the table next to the Sephora bag and Isabel swallows half of it in one go before standing up and looping the bag handles around her wrist, drink still in hand, purse hung over the other arm. “If you’ll both excuse me I have other business to attend to tonight.”

She saunters away without saying goodbye; Oliver slumps back in his chair and Helena smiles wickedly at him. “She seemed positively thrilled to see you tonight.”

“Sure.”

“Oh don’t take it personally, you know Isabel. All business, all the time.”

“What else is new?” He swirls the vodka around in his glass, thinking about what Isabel said about Felicity, the phrase she used.

_An opportunity._

“Don’t frown Oliver, it gives you wrinkles.” Helena takes another sip of her drunk and checks her lipstick with her finger to wipe away the tiniest of smudges. 

“What was in the bag?” he asks.

She smirks a little. “I thought you weren’t involved in that aspect of our lives anymore.”

“I’m curious.”

She laughs a little. “Don’t worry about it darling. Just a little something Daddy’s men have been cooking.”

“Pills?”

She leans forward and reaches out to pat his cheek. “Just business as usual.”

She stays for one more drink and kisses him on the cheek when she says goodbye. She lingers for a moment, glancing sideways at Felicity before leaning down to murmur in his ear. “She really is beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, because, well, it’s true.

Helena gives him a rueful smile. “I’d tell you to be careful but I know better.”

“I’m trying,” he mutters.

“I’m sure you are,” she says, although she looks like she doesn’t quite believe him, and waves as she walks away.

When Oliver finishes his drink he switches to a bottle of water to sober up so he’ll be good to drive Felicity when she gets off at two. It’s just past midnight so he settles in, leaned back in his chair so he can idly watch Felicity dance while taking occasional glances around the room because he never really feels totally safe anymore, especially not after last night, the way he’d frozen during that fight, reality blurring with his memories like he didn’t know what was real anymore. 

He presses one hand against his chest where his Bratva tattoo is hidden under his shirt and breathes through the rush of residual anxiety until he feels calm again. The room is at peak capacity at the moment; there’s a cluster of blonde women at the far table mingling with a bunch of guys in polos and dress pants, a bachelorette party wearing plastic tiaras and shiny pink sashes bouncing around to the music and taking endless selfies, a few men sit in designer suits sitting at the table nearest to Felicity and Iris laughing loudly and occasionally waving one of them over so they can slip paper bills into the waistbands of the girls’ shorts.

Oliver swallows back a rush of possessiveness at witnessing other mens’ hands so close to Felicity and looks away, accidentally catching the eye of a stunning Asian women dressed in a red jumpsuit, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail to show off huge dangling gold earrings. She gives him a cool smile and turns back to the man sitting next to her and Oliver turns back to Felicity.

He passes the time by watching her, letting himself fall into the fantasy because he has nothing else to do and it’s impossible to resist when she’s so close, her body undulating to the music. He thinks about what it would feel like, to put his hands on all that skin, how she would feel against him, on top of him, around him. Stares at her shining glossed lips and thinks about kissing her, imagines the kinds of noises she might make, how she’d taste against his lips.

The things he would do to her, if she’d let him.

It makes him feel high even though he’s sobering up, the idea of having her, anyone really, in that way, he hasn’t seriously thought about sleeping with someone since before he went to Russia, before his father got shot in the head, before they even got off the boat. Nothing kills the sex drive more than watching your father bleed out right in front of you, almost drowning in the China Sea, running from the triad across Asia and getting stuck in Russia working for Anatoli for three months before finally being released.

But when he’s with Felicity all of that feels like a bad dream, something distant and aching and tolerable. He’s helpless in the face of her beauty, her charm, the way she always seems to shine. He thinks about that first night, meeting her in the bar of The Emerald Hotel, how fresh she was, brand new, open and excited and friendly. How he’d only become suspicious of her when he knew she was connected to Isabel, because he’s always been suspicious of Isabel, how his father brought her into QC from nowhere, like he’d materialized the perfect woman to help run the company, shrewd and cutthroat and mildly terrifying.

What did Isabel see that night in Vegas, watching Felicity dance? She’s beautiful but beautiful dancers are a dime a dozen, especially in Las Vegas, a city for sinners. What was it about her that made Isabel want her for herself, for the club, the family? Could she see what Oliver sees, that there’s something about Felicity that’s different, special, somehow untarnished by all the grime she’s surrounded by?

What kind of opportunity did Isabel see when she saw Felicity’s fallen angel face, those curls, that body?

The VIP room empties out a little before last call, Oliver catches Felicity’s eye as he stands up from the table. She gives him an endearing shy smile, like he hasn’t spent half the night watching her dance in her underwear, which is beyond adorable, and Oliver gestures loosely towards the back of the club, eyebrows raised, and Felicity nods and mouths _ten minutes._

He says goodbye to Roy and walks through the dance floor, pushing against the crowd of people stumbling toward the front entrance. He runs into Dig halfway to the bar, Diggle grins and reaches out to slap his shoulder. “Hey brother, how’s it going?”

“Good.” Oliver melts under the weight of his hand, the look on Dig’s face kind and paternalistic in a way that feels so good it almost hurts. “You?”

“Oh, can’t complain. You drinking alone again?”

“Um, not really, I’m actually meeting up with Felicity.”

Dig raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Oliver breaks into a grin. “Yeah.”

“Alright, good for you. She’s a sweet girl, you take care of her, you hear?”

“Yes sir.” Oliver says it with a bit of cheek and laughs when Dig rolls his eyes. “Get a drink later this week?”

“You know where I am most nights.” Dig pats Oliver’s shoulder again. “Drive safe.”

“You too.” Oliver makes his way to the bar and hops over it to give Sara a quick hug goodbye before slipping out into the back hallway to wait for Felicity.

She comes out of the dressing room a few minutes later wearing the clothes he picked her up in, her hair piled up in a messy bun on the top of her head.

“Hey,” she says, sounding happy to see him as she walks over to wear he’s leaning against the wall. “Thanks for waiting for me.”

He smiles back and reaches out to take her bag from her. “I don't mind.”

She slips her hand through his, a little mischievous look coming over her face. “Did you enjoy the show?”

His mouth suddenly goes dry. “Very much.”

“Good.” Felicity swings their linked arms as they walk down the hallway and go out into the parking lot. 

He tosses her bag into the backseat for her and gets her door, Felicity hops up into the car and leans back in her seat, fatigue flickering behind her eyes as he slams her door shut. He jogs around to get into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, buckles up and turns the headlights on. He backs out of the lot, left hand on the wheel so that his other one can reach across the console to brush the back of Felicity’s hand before shifting gears.

“Tired?” he asks.

“A little,” she admits.

He turns out of the alley and onto the main street, the sidewalks clogged with young drunk partiers on the hunt for late night pizza. He drives past The Emerald, Big Belly Burger, Starling City lit up even in the middle of the night. Felicity hums softly along to whatever is playing on the radio, looking sleepy and content and Oliver could drive for hours like this, just to have her next to him.

“Hey,” he finally says, when he’s almost at her place, slowing down for an upcoming red light. “Do you have a night off this week?”

She yawns behind her hand. “Tuesday.”

Oliver takes a deep breath and pushes through the fear. “You want to get dinner with me? I don’t usually drive late on Tuesdays.” 

She sits up a little in her seat. “Really?”

He glances sideways at her as he pushes down on the brake pedal to stop at the light. “Yeah, really.”

She’s smiling now. “Like a date, dinner?”

“Like a date dinner,” he confirms, a rush of nerves hitting him like he’s sixteen all over again.

Felicity opens her mouth to say something but he doesn’t catch her answer because there’s a terrific crash and blinding white light and she’s screaming and up is down and down is up and glass is raining from the sky and just out of the corner of his eye Oliver sees a flash of red and gold before the world is bathed in darkness.

And then there is nothing.


End file.
